


that in which you do not see

by efrondeur



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Already Happened Though, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Klangst Week 2017, M/M, Major Character Injury, Prosthesis, lance lost leggy au, theres no description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 20:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10473327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efrondeur/pseuds/efrondeur
Summary: Lance lost half his right leg, plain and simple.… Except that it isn’t plain and simple.AKA Lance loses his leggy and both he and Keith deal with the fallout





	

**Author's Note:**

> i had a conversation with [jackalopes-vld on tumblr](http://jackalopes-vld.tumblr.com/) about how a lot of the time people assume everything's all sunshine and happiness after a character experiences major trauma and this is what came out of it
> 
> this is also for Klangst Week Day Four: Injury

It isn’t easy.

Never has been, never will be.

Lance lost half his right leg, plain and simple.

 

 

 

 

… Except that it isn’t plain and simple.

It hurt, seeing the pain he went through, _still_ goes through, both physically and mentally. He watched it as it all ripped him down, his beautiful, happy, bright boyfriend being torn to shreds, but still putting on a smile, even if it was sometimes through grit teeth. And Keith knows it was all for everyone else. He smiled through everything just to make sure they never worried, never cried, never panicked. He woke up smiling; he went to sleep smiling. He cracked joke after joke, even as the pain became so much he could barely speak.

But before he even woke up the for the first time…. Seeing him in that hospital bed, watching as a tube breathed for him, as his usual shiny, soft hair was matted down against his head by harsh products and oil, as he lay pale, looking like death just barely warmed over - it changed something in Keith.

He vowed to Lance’s limp form as well as himself that he would never allow Lance to feel like there was anything he couldn’t do like he was something taking up space. He would always be there for Lance, ready to catch him should he fall or be a shoulder to cry on on the darkest of days. He would never allow him to feel useless or helpless, hopeless or meaningless, alone or unheard.

He’d _always_ have Keith, no matter what.

 

* * *

 

 

Light from the sun shines into the apartment, golden-yellow rays casting the room in a happy, earthy glow. The lights are all off in favor of the natural light. It beautifully accents the hardwood floors and light cherry wood cabinets of their kitchen. Keith could do without the scuffs and marks the sunlight accents, but you win some, you lose some.

He listens to the muffled clicking of Lance’s forearm crutch as he busies himself in the living room, different from the normal thud of his prosthetic. The familiar crinkle of magazines and rustling of clothes ring throughout the room, almost deafeningly loud. Presumably, Lance is tidying up, which worries Keith to no end.

Their apartment is usually pretty clean, save for the stray shirt or two and a forever-remaining pile of dishes in the sink, but Lance has a habit of cleaning almost obsessively when there’s something bothering him, and the living room definitely didn’t need cleaning when Keith saw it earlier.

“Hey, can you come in here?” calls Keith.

“Yeah, one sec,” says Lance.

Keith listens as the clacking becomes louder, more pronounced. This boy wouldn’t even be able to sneak up on a bear in hibernation. Before he lost his leg, he used to be nearly silent as he walked, always scaring people. Even when he didn’t mean to, Keith would be working out or cleaning and suddenly a body would lean up against the doorframe or a pair of arms would wrap around his waist, never failing to scare the shit out of him. He may or may not have accidentally elbowed Lance in the stomach a few times, but hey, that’s what he gets for scaring him.

There are times where Lance will still try to get the best of him, putting on a pair of slippers or hopping on his one leg, but Keith can still always hear him. The thud of his prosthetic is unable to be hidden no matter the amount of cotton, cracking of the joints in his toes following him with every hop. Sometimes Keith waits til the last second, turning and wrapping his arms around Lance’s middle, picking him up and swinging him around as Lance giggles. Other times he pretends like he’s none the wiser, jumping and yelping, only to relish in the seldom heard raucous laugh or the satisfied smirk.

“What’s up?” asks Lance, clicking hitting a crescendo as his cane hits the tile of the kitchen.

“Taste this,” says Keith, picking up the ladle he’s stirring with. He dips it into the soup, cupping his hand under it as he brings it over to Lance, who meets him halfway. He watches Lance as he walks. Watches his arm in the crutch as it shakes slightly, as his face stays painfully neutral, as he sways, balance obviously off kilter. As Keith feels his eyebrows start to crook up, he carefully relaxes them.

Holding it up to Lance’s lips, Lance cranes his neck forward, taking a small taste. Pulling back, he swallows, eyes trailing up to the ceiling as his head tilts back and forth.

“Good, but I’d probably add some more spices,” says Lance.

“Different kinds or more of what’s in it?”

“More of what’s in it. It’s just missing that last little taste if you get what I mean.”

Keith tastes it himself. He’s right. The tomatoes and spices weave together perfectly, but as the flavor melds together in his mouth, a little something is missing.

Returning to the simmering soup, Keith leans to the side, grabbing the salt, pepper, chopped basil, thyme, minced garlic, and onion powder. He adds a significant amount of the first three and the rest in moderation. Lance comes up behind him, slinging his free arm around Keith’s middle. Feeling the extra weight Lance rests onto him, Keith shifts his body, pushing lightly against Lance’s to help hold him up.

After stirring the ingredients in, he lifts the ladle again, turning in Lance’s arms. Holding it out to him, Lance taste tests it again. After a moment he hums, smile spreading across his face. Keith pats his side with his free hand, moving to turn before Lance’s hand on his wrist stops him. Giving Lance a confused look, Lance simply cranes his neck, eating more of the soup off the ladle. With a silent laugh, Keith gently twitches his arm, smearing the bright red soup all over his nose and lips.

Lance pulls back, glaring at Keith. Smirking, Keith leans forward, planting a kiss on Lance’s mouth. Laughing through his nose, Keith feels the air fanning out against his face. Breaking it off, Keith licks his lips, watching Lance’s eyes follow the motion.

Maybe today isn’t as bad of a day as Keith originally thought. Lance usually can’t smile so easily, so naturally on his bad days. It’s wishful thinking, but that’s all that’s gotten them through these past few months. That and each other.

Keith hums. “I might be becoming a better cook than you.” He places his hands on Lance’s hips, thumbs rubbing circles into them. He smiles, at Lance’s increasingly flushing face. Even after all this time together, Lance still gets blushy after a tiny peck on the lips.

Meeting his eyes, Lance looks at him flatly. “You wish, Mullet,” he says.

Lance carefully places the padded end of his crutch behind him, shifting his weight backward. Keith watches as his arm shakes where it holds his crutch, hopping backward as he steps away from Keith. Watches as Lance winces before carefully putting his face back together. Watches as what is left of his right leg twitches forward, his body bracing as he prepares for a step that wouldn’t come.

So… not a good day.

Keith turns back to the soup, taking the pot off the stove as he hears Lance head towards the kitchen table. Pulling two bowls out of the cupboard, he hears the chair scratch against the floor as Lance pulls it out. He sets them down on the counter, punctuated by a sharp intake of breath and a familiar thud. In the corner of his eye, he sees Lance holding the sides of his right thigh, face twisted in pain, and Keith pretends to focus on the ladle clinking against their bowls as he pours the soup.

Once the soup is evenly divided, Keith puts the pot in the sink and grabs a glass sitting on the drying rack right next to it. He fills it with water from the tap before grabbing Lance’s medicine bottle - his painkillers. He drops two into his hand. As he turns to bring them over to Lance, he watches Lance force his face to a pointed neutral, pain carefully hidden as he looks out the window.

Keith places the pills and water on the table in front of him without a word. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lance shifting uncomfortably, so he turns, heading back to the bowls of soup. He keeps his back turned for a few moments, instead spending the time pretending to search through the silverware drawer for two spoons.

He really doesn’t expect Lance to take them as quickly as he does - he almost never takes them until anywhere between half an hour to two hours after Keith sets them near him, depending on how he’s feeling that day - so when he hears the glass clink against the table as he’s searching for spoons, he starts. It must be really bad today.

Hastily, he brings the bowls and spoons over to the table, wanting to get some food in Lance’s stomach before the pain killers take into effect. Lance mumbles a brief thank you as he sets his bowl in front of him.

Taking his seat across from Lance, he starts a light conversation, anything to distract Lance while they eat. They talk about the weather at first, how it should be nice enough for there not to be ice on the sidewalk. It’s not much of a distraction, but Lance’s eyes light up at the prospect of being able to go on short walks with Keith. After that they devolve into their usual banter: Keith yelling at him for eating too fast, Lance countering with the fact that Keith’s food always goes cold before he finishes, Keith smearing more soup on his face, earning a catapult to his t-shirt.

Normally this is when Keith or Lance would tackle each other onto the ground, starting a fight that hasn’t been heated since years before they started dating. It would always end in a makeout session, one pinned under the other. But now, now they couldn’t do that. Lance would have to grab his crutch to get to Keith; Keith is too afraid of hurting him more.

Instead, they glare at each other, only to laugh as Keith can’t hold a straight face anymore, smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his eyes go from a faux-angry to bright and happy. It’s nice, but Keith feels something missing in it and he knows Lance does, too. So, again, he changes the subject again.

“I told Shiro I’d be stopping over in thirty to grab the weights,” says Keith, picking up their bowls as he stands. Noticing Lance’s is barely half eaten, a gnawing worry settles at the bottom his stomach. He crosses their small kitchen, heading to the sink.

“That’s fine.”

“Well, are you going to be okay on your own while I’m gone?” asks Keith, placing the bowls in the sink. He turns to Lance, leaning his back against the counter, kicking one foot over the other as his hands come to curl around the edges of the counter.

“Of course,” says Lance. He gets up from his chair, arm shaking again. Keith watches him try to take a step again. His heart pangs in his chest.

“I can stay,” says Keith.

“Nah, you should get them. Can’t get nice and strong for you without them.” Keith didn’t know a smile could be so easy yet so forced.

Lance walks over to him, movements slow and sluggish, but he makes his way over, stopping in front of Keith. He presses a kiss to his temple but loses his balance. Keith’s hands fly up to his waist, steadying him. But Lance’s jaw clenches, eyes fixating on the fridge to their left. Keith plays it off, running his hands up and down his sides.

“You’re sure?” asks Keith, voice barely above a whisper.

Lance nods sternly, still not meeting his gaze.

“Alright.” Keith kisses his nose. The corners of Lance’s lips curve up, just barely, but hey, Keith will take what he can.

 

* * *

 

Before Keith leaves, he helps Lance take a bath, smear his ointments to his wound, and reapply his bandages. Lance could do them himself at this point, if just slower and more carefully, but the one time he tried, he called for Keith to come into the bathroom only five minutes in. Keith’s not entirely sure if it’s because he didn’t feel safe enough or if he wasn’t able to stomach dealing with it all.

Probably both.

Afterwards, he always made sure to kiss the bandages of his right leg and scars marring his left, never leaving an inch of skin untouched and unloved. Lance always tries to get out of his reach before then, pretending he doesn’t want the kisses - and maybe sometimes looking at the scars is too much, but that’s all the more reason to leave them. Lance’s actions afterward, however, always betray that. He smiles, blushing like a fifth grader, and plants an obnoxious, wet kiss to Keith’s forehead. It’s endearing, if not kinda gross.

But even after all of that, he’s still worried about Lance. Today’s been… strange compared to his other days. His good days meant laughter, a prosthetic, cuddling, kissing, going on little excursions, and falling asleep in the sun on their balcony. Bad days meant pain. Unease. Restlessness. Vomiting. Debilitating nightmares. Those that are in between are just days of uncomfort, slight pain, and soft, tender care from Keith. Today is a mix of all three. It’s throwing Keith for a loop, making him anxious beyond all belief.

Keith walks the two blocks over to Shiro’s apartment building. He’d moved closer to them after Lance’s accident, but couldn’t find one in their building, so he settled for second best. Which was a nice ass second best, considering it has two bathrooms, a staircase, three bedrooms, a complimentary ping pong table - which Shiro regrets beyond all belief. Plus, he got one of the best views they could probably get on this side of town - not a brick wall. And thankfully, it only takes ten minutes at most to get there, which meant less time he had to be away from Lance on his bad days.

The elevator ride up is quick, no more than a minute. When he steps out, he’s hit with raucous laughter coming from down the hall. He follows it towards Shiro’s apartment, not at all surprised when he finds it’s the source. The door is cracked open, likely for Keith. Shiro didn’t tell him he’d have guests when they talked earlier. He’s really not in the mood to be social now. With a sigh, he pushes it open as he knocks on it.

Ten sets of eyes fall on him, smiles lining most of the faces they belong to. They’re all familiar, friends of both him and Shiro, but a couple are more strange than the others. Shiro hops out of his seat, smile plaster across his face.

“Hey, Keith! They’re right over here,” he says, nodding his head over to the kitchen.

Keith follows Shiro into the room. Shiro grabs a duffel bag with his prosthetic. “Here,” he says, handing it over to Keith. “Careful, it’s heavy.”

“What? I thought it’d be light,” says Keith, voice flat as he glares at Shiro.

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Just take the bag.”

Keith smirks, grabbing the bag with one hand and slinging it over his shoulder.

They walk back into the living room, Shiro clapping a hand on Keith’s shoulder as they turn. Already heading towards the door, Keith is about to throw a thank you and goodbye over his shoulder when a voice stops him.

“Hey, Keith,” says Rein. Keith pauses, turning. “We’re about to go out and get some drinks. You should come.”

“I can’t today, but thanks,” he says, already resuming his walk towards the door.

“Is it because of him?” asks Rein.

Keith freezes, body already tensing. If he knows anything about Rein, this isn’t going to end well. Not at all. He stays facing towards the door, not trusting what he’ll do if he sees Rein’s cocky, self-centered smirk.

Rein likes to do this, to poke at Keith until Keith reaches his breaking point. Shiro’s already had to rip them away from each other too many times before, and honestly, Keith doesn’t understand why he keeps the asshole around. But Shiro always says it’s complicated and Keith never has the patience to hear the story.

“C’mon, man, he’s been outta the hospital for what? Six months? Pretty sure he can survive on his own.”

“I know he can, but I’m still going to be there for him,” says Keith, trying to keep his voice level.

“So you’re gonna wait on him hand and foot like a good little maid? Put up with every single pouty face and cry for attention? Damn I need to get me one of those,” says Rein, laughing.

Keith’s blood runs cold for a mere second before it starts to boil, bubbling under his skin as he starts to shake. His breathing becomes harsher, jaw clenching as hard as it can. His hands ball into fists, wishing nothing more than to crash against Rein’s ugly ass face.

There’s a couple laughs that ring out with Rein’s but they’re more nervous than an actual laugh. The room goes silent as they wait for Keith’s response. Lance is the only thing that stops Keith from hurtling the couch and hurtling himself at Rein. Lance needs him to be there with him. Lance needs him back home and - more specifically - not in jail.

Swallowing his pride, he takes the few steps towards the door, but Rein isn’t done. No, he never knows when to stop.

“I mean, c’mon. He’s like a little baby always whining for his bottle, never knowing what to do without you there to coddle him through everything. Just leave him already, he does nothing but hold you back.”

Keith whips around, eyes alight. “If you actually knew what love is maybe you’d understand. Lance never asked for any of this. He’s gone through so much that your tiny fucking brain could never understand, yet he still fights through every day while you sit your lazy ass down and whine about how horrible your _pathetic_ excuse for a life is,” snarls Keith.

He stalks towards Rein, watching as the fear of god crosses his face. “Next time you try to dig on my strong, loving boyfriend, I can guarantee you won’t have the teeth to say a _goddamn_ word.”

With that, he turns on his heel, swings the door open, and slams it shut as he leaves.

He doesn’t understand what people don’t get. It’s not like he does this because he feels like he has to. It would be so easy to just leave and never come back, but no. He loves Lance beyond all belief. He does this willingly and happily. And it’s not like Lance ever asked to have a fucking house fall on him.

As long as Lance needs him, Keith will be there for him, be it as someone to carry him around town or someone to laugh with when he feels like he can’t anymore. Sure, some days it gets hard. Some days the need to always be bright and cheerful is too much, but he goes through it anyway because he knows Lance would do the same, if not even more.

Honestly, he doesn’t know why Lance wants Keith out of everyone he could have. Hunk would be so much more attentive, so much easier going and happy, yet Lance chose Keith, a man whose temper isn’t always very stable and who can’t cook for shit. Someone who, despite having to calm Lance down after nightmares and anxiety attacks and flashbacks, still doesn’t really understand how to empathize enough to truly help Lance outside of rubbing his back and telling him it will be okay. Why him?

A door opens behind him as he reaches the elevator. He ignores it, instead pressing the button.  

“Keith,” calls Shiro. _Nope._

The elevator door dings open almost immediately. Keith steps in, hitting the button for the lobby, refusing to respond to Shiro. He doesn’t feel like hearing whatever half-assed excuse Shiro will give him.

Heavy footsteps thunder through the hall. The elevator doors start to close; the footsteps pick up. Shiro slides in just as the doors are about to close, body angled to fit into the slit.

“C’mon, Keith,” says Shiro, breathing heavy.

“I don’t want to hear it, Shiro,” he bites.

The elevator jostles them as it starts its descent. The weights on Keith’s shoulders cause him to lose his balance, but he catches it quickly, spreading his legs a bit wider.

“I was just going to ask if you’re okay.”

Steeling his face, Keith grits, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“I just want to get back to Lance.” Keith pointedly stares at the door of the elevator.

Seeming to notice, Shiro moves, shifting to stand closer to the door. He places himself in Keith’s peripherals, but Keith still refuses to meet his eye. “And how is Lance doing? Is today a bad day?”

A bit of tension leaves Keith’s shoulders, grateful for the change in topic. Sorta. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” says Shiro as the doors open to the lobby of the building. “Keep me posted, yeah? I worry about him, too.” With that he steps out of the way, hitting the button to go back up to his floor.

“I will.” Keith steps out of the elevator, readjusting the strap on his shoulder.

He’s still seething, ready to punch a cement wall at a moment’s notice. On his walk back, people cross the street after seeing him, fleeing towards safety. Good. Fuck them all.

 

* * *

 

“I’m home,” calls Keith, kicking the door shut behind him.

He feels worn out, a lot of his anger having been forcibly dissipated on his ride up, leaving behind exhaustion both mentally and physically in its wake. His limbs feel heavy, his head muddled, and his eyes are starting to hurt in his skull. God, what he wouldn’t give for Rein to disappear into the abyss. It’s tiring always having to feel like this after they fight, but at least this time there are no wounds to tend to.

“Hey,” says Lance. He pops up from his spot on the couch, crutch already in hand. This time there’s no shaking as he meets Keith halfway, thank god. Maybe he really did just need some time alone. However, there is confusion written in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” asks Lance.

Feigning ignorance, Keith tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

He steps around Lance, heading for the couch, wanting nothing more than to gather Lance in his arms and sleep for the next decade. Or five.

“I mean you look exhausted and you weren’t even gone for an hour. Did something happen at Shiro’s?” Lance follows him over to the couch, a step and a half behind him the whole time.

“No, the bag was just heavier than I thought,” says Keith, plopping down onto the couch. He leans his head back, closing his eyes as the cushions encompass him. Never before has this couch seemed so inviting. Sleeping for a decade may be entirely possible.

“Yeah, and I still have my right leg.”

 _Oh no._ Jokes… jokes aren’t good. At least not those jokes. His eyes blink open, arms already reaching out to pull Lance onto his lap, but instead he’s met with a shove.

Lance pushes him down onto the couch, Keith’s face hitting the soft fabric with a thud. Lance turns quickly, dropping his crutch to the side and sits his ass right down on the middle of Keith’s back. A couple vertebrae pop, one hurting, one feeling heavenly.

“Lanz, ge - off - e,” mumbles Keith, barely able to speak with a mouth full of couch.

“What’s that, I can’t hear you,” says Lance. He can hear the smirk in his voice, that little fucker.

Lance wiggles his butt on Keith’s back, making his back pop more in the process. With a sigh, Keith arches his back, lifting his head as high as he could with a hundred-twenty-pound asshole sitting on it.

“Get off me!” he yells with no real heat behind it.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to tell me what’s wrong then,” he says in sing-song.

“ _Lance._ ”

“ _Keith._ ”

Laying his head back down, Keith stays quiet for a couple minutes, not willing to give in. It’s only when Lance wiggles his butt again accompanied with the sound of him picking at his nails does he give in. He sighs, turning his head to the side.

“Shiro had friends over,” says Keith.

Lance stops wiggling, hands stilling as well. “Was Rein there?”

“‘Course he was.”

“What’d he do?”

“Said some things.”

“And what were those things about?”

Keith bites his lip. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not at all.

“About you.”

He hears Lance swallow hard. Feels his weight shift as he hears the sound of rubbing fabric. The sound of Lance rubbing his injury.

“What’d he say?” asks Lance, voice small.

“Lance -”

“Keith, don’t. I deserve to know.”

He does. Doesn’t mean Keith wants to tell him, but he takes a deep breath.

“He asked me to go out for drinks with them, but I told them I couldn’t. He said that,” Keith’s throat tightens, “He said that you’re a child always needing help and that I’m a maid who waits on you hand and foot.”

Keith stays quiet, waiting for something, anything from Lance, but he gets nothing. No shifting no sounds. Nothing.

“It’s not true, Lance.”

“But it is,” says Lance, voice quiet and wavering.

“No, Lance -”

“It _is!_ ” yells Lance, shooting up from the couch.

But he doesn’t take into account he doesn’t have all his right leg anymore. He falls forward with a startled cry, arms flying out to catch himself on the ground. The impact is loud, rattling the drying dishes in the kitchen just ten feet away. Keith springs forward, coming off the couch and down onto one knee next to Lance.

“Lance,” he says softly, arm coming around his shoulders, hand splaying across his opposite shoulder blade.

He rubs in a circle, but Lance curls in on himself, turning the other way, sobs wracking his body as he hides his face in his hands. Keith’s heart twists in his chest, worry and guilt filling him.

“Here,” says Keith gently, “let’s get you up.”

Keith slips an arm under Lance, gathering his leg in the other. He lifts him up, bridal style, and sits back down on the couch, Lance seated in his lap, leg hanging off the side of the couch. Lance clings to him, nails digging into his shoulder. One of Keith’s hands holds him just as tightly, while the other cards through his hair, gently resting Lance’s head against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Keith,” sobs Lance.

Keith lets his eyes slip closed, focusing on the sound and feel of Lance. Blindly watching for any major changes: sweating, twitching, or uncontrollable shaking. So far, it’s just the sobs, but Keith prepares himself to hop up at any moment, ready to run to the grab their weighted blanket.

“I can’t even stand up without needing help. God I’m such a fucking mess and you have to deal with all of it, it’s not fair to you, Keith, I’m so sorry, it’s not fair. I’m such a fucking burden on you, I’m so sorry.”

Keith rocks them side to side slowly. He buries his nose into Lance’s hair, nuzzling against him as Lance starts to hiccup. He feels his shirt becoming increasingly wet starting to stick to his chest, but he doesn’t care. He scratches lightly at the back of Lance’s head, near the nape of his neck.

His heart hurts with every sob, with every choked back noise, with every word, with every hiccup. He wishes nothing more than being able to take all the pain away from Lance. To give him his leg and take Lance’s stump. To take every insecurity and throw it out the window with his own gentle words, but that’s not how it works. Half of Lance’s leg is gone. His insecurities gnaw it him each day, but the least he can do is be there. Maybe one day his words will heal, fight every spiraling thought. But until that happens, Keith will stay by his side, helping him in any and every way that he can.

“You deserve so much more - _hic_ \- than a fuck-up like me. You should have a guy that will - _hic_ \- go on runs with you and get a - _hic_ \- dog with you that you guys can play frisbee with in your white picket fence backyard and go out on dates with and - _hic_ \- explore the world together. Not deal with someone who can barely even - _hic_ \- walk half a block without getting so winded that you have to carry me back to the apartment. I’m sorry, Keith. I’m sorry.”

Lance repeats _I’m sorry_ into Keith’s neck almost like a prayer, a hiccup breaking it up every here and there. He goes on for a while, and Keith lets him, not daring to interrupt him. Instead, he offers what comfort he can, pressing kisses into his hair and resting his cheek on his temple, and waits as Lance’s cries slowly die out. When he feels the tears still hitting his shirt, falling without a sound to accompany them, is when he starts to speak in low, hushed tones.

“You’re not a burden, Lance. You’re my boyfriend. You were before the accident, and you still are afterward. I never feel like you’re something I have to ‘deal with’ just my loving, kind boyfriend who I’m helping to get better and I’d happily do it again in a heartbeat if that means I don’t lose you. I’m never going to regret anything that’s happened after your accident. As long as you’re safe and healthy, that’s all that matters. I love you, Lance, and all the ointments and medicines that come with you.”

Lance sniffs, nuzzling his nose into Keith’s neck. “I love you too,” he says, voice wet, but stronger, surer than before.

Keith moves his hands, running them up and down Lance’s sides as he takes a couple shuddering breaths. When Lance pulls away a couple inches, Keith looks down at him. He’s met by red-rimmed eyes who have seen too much, felt too much, and blotchy, swollen, tear-streaked face. The corners of his lips are turned down and his eyelids are half closed.

The entire sight makes Keith want to wrap him up and never let him go. Tell the world to go fuck itself, he’ll be protecting his boyfriend from it for the rest of his days.

But Lance reaches up to him, gently placing his hand on Keith’s cheek. He rises a couple inches, tilting his face upwards towards Keith, eyes fluttering closed. With a soft, sad smile, Keith cranes his neck down, meeting Lance in a wet, chaste kiss. But it’s more than that. It’s Lance’s apology and Keith’s reassurance. Lance’s doubt and Keith’s surety. Lance’s strength and Keith’s worry.

Lance’s love for Keith and Keith’s love for Lance.

And a promise from them both that through thick and thin, they will fight, side by side, never letting the other fall.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and criticisms are love!
> 
> please check out [jackalopes-vld's fan art for this au! it's sad and soft and everything i've ever needed <3](http://jackalopes-vld.tumblr.com/post/158904457657/klangst-week-day-4-deathinjury-au-where-lance)
> 
> come scream with me on [tumblr, i'm shiros-eyes!](http://shiros-eyes.tumblr.com)


End file.
